Of Death.

Death. Whether it is the death of a dear-one, death of a neighbour, death on the daily news or your own death; it is one definite certainty that defies all uncertainties life unrelentingly presents. It is as much someone’s fault as the earthquakes. I vaguely remember reading somewhere; “Death is not the end of life, it is a part of it”. Death remains; within or without life. Death is a reminder of existence or the lack there of, I am not entirely sure where I stand on the issue. It is one median we are offered which casts aside all barriers of human creation. Death does not stop life nor does it begin one. All it does is, probably, define nothingness and singularity.

“By living our lives, we nurture death. It is only one of the truths we have to learn in this lifetime, but no truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure the sorrow of losing a loved-one. All we can do is see the sorrow through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sadness that comes to us without warning.”

Of Poetry.

Unfortunately I cannot find the video I mentioned in the previous post, but here are the lyrics.

Take That – Said It All.

When the tears fall away
And there’s no conversation
There’s nothing left to break
That’s not already broken
You’re staring into space
And every inch of silence
Been standing here for days and days

In the sudden light of day
The weight of expectation
Hurt begins to fade
As you find a new direction
Been talking here for days and days and days

All of the miles of words we’ve spoken
All of the lines that got away
Didn’t we take the time to say them all?

Said it all
Nothing to say at all
Nothing to say that matters
Haven`t we heard enough?

Said it all
Nothing to say at all
Nothing to say that matters
Haven`t we said it all?

The lyrics are awfully profound, don’t you think? The video is great too (if you find it anywhere, or there is always the rare chance you catch it on the tele).

Of Landmarks (?).

The run up to the weekend is going to be highly emotional and extremely reflective. It is as if I am clinging onto every last bit of it before everything ‘young’ loses complete tangibilty. I have become very sensitive to every little change that asserts itself upon me declaring the imminent arrival of the landmarking moment in my silly little life.

Things that ordinarily would mean nothing, suddenly have grave importance. For example, I got worked up about cutting pineapples. I have lived independently for a while, as in not just breathing and eating and brushing my teeth on my own, but cooking up storms, cleaning loos and doing grown-up things by myself. Even so, there were certain things that only Mumma did for me. Insignificant things really, but they were always done by Mumma (for no particular reason) and doing any of those things by myself, now, means losing that partial dependence on my childhood forever. Today was my first time cutting pineapple, and as silly as that may sound, I felt like I lost a big chunk of my carefree childishness. I want to hold on tight to my child-likeness, the problem though is that I am clutching the life out of it. Should I let it slip away easily or hold on to whatever I can? There is always that dilemma.

Completely unrelated and yet this a result of my upcoming BIG weekend… I was watching this new video with clowns in it, and although clowns never really struck any chord with me ever before, I felt incredibly sad watching them. Clowns never made me rofl, but this experience of feeling sorrow was a first. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was their faces, but I realized how plastering paint can hide a ton of sadness, how much it can mask away into anonymity.

Amongst other things that are affecting my disposition, here is a quote so appropriate, it makes me wince every time I read it:

“Time’s running out to do something bizzare. Sometime around 25, bizzare becomes…immature” ~ Bridget Fonda, Singles

Of Reflections And Revelations.

I look at the mirror hoping I could look into it, because all I can see on the surface is pother of a human being. Maybe it’s best that I don’t look inside and find a person who is becoming disgruntled and obsessively turning into a taciturn. Is that shying away from the reality? No. It’s choosing to carry on and amending things on the way rather than getting stuck on the same inanity every, single day. It is a task to get through one day at a time. I hate it when people like to live their lives as it comes; one day at a time. It drives me insane. Probably it’s the simplest thing to do therefore making it impossible for me to fathom.

The more I think about where I am in life and what I am doing, an image comes to mind. And it haunts me. It vexes me. And the more I analyze it the more apt it gets. I feel like a donkey slogging after a dangling carrot; a pejorative life in the making. Sadly, I have come to a point where the carrot doesn’t look enticing enough and I still have to slog after it. Blah!

Now I want a carrot cake when it seems I don’t deserve the carrot in the first instance! Blah!

Of Shortest Stories.

I am currently experimenting with writing short stories. I am no good at writing anything beyond 5 pages in a Word document, so I looked around if anyone wrote stories shorter than mine. To much delight, I found one page stories and then I began thinking if shorter stories could be told? Maybe in one line of a page?! I tried my hand at a few and these two here, are my favourites…

Story 1:

He saw. He ran. He was shot.

Story 2:

Alone again. He died inside her.

What I absolutely loved about writing these one line stories was they were open to interpretations; to each his own. It is entirely up to your imagination what you want to make of the situation in the story, how you want to visualize it, in what light you want to see it; what you read in the story is only for you. I have more reasons to be fond of these one-line stories… the prequel and sequel takes care of itself in the unsaid. It is structurally abstract.

I thought it was a great experiment to exercise for those writing cells. Do you have any one line stories? Let me know…

Of Black, White and Red.

Night sky devoid of stars,
Velvet, blackness consumes
The cold, cold heart
Of a lonely darker soul.

Pristine snow blankets all land,
Sheer whiteness stretches,
Blank sterility becomes the mind,
Ghost within becomes the foe.

Iced sharpness of the dagger
Searches for the warmth within numbed wrists,
Tears through tissues, layer after layer,
Till precious drops come gushing;

Steady trickle of thick blood
Wrenches the heart dry,
Fervently releases the confined reds
Into the pond of crystal, rubies.

All pain of vitality and vigour stifled,
Eerie silence crawls,
Slowly engulfs, extinguishes,
The quivering solitary flame.

–The Solitary Dreamer

Of Lethargy.

So who says everyday has to be filled to the brim with things to do? I woke up wanting to stay in bed and stare out of the window. I am going to do just that. Sit by and watch the ducks dipping and swimming in the pond. Watch the tulips dance. Watch the wind spray fountain water on the walls. Watch the clouds drift across the sun. Then watch the shadow drown into the shimmering pond. Watch dogs walking their owners along the promenade. Watch people rushing to be somewhere. Open the window and let the fresh sea breeze fill the room. Pull the warm covers over my feet and cozy pillows to support my back. Sip coffee in bed with a book to keep me company. Soft, classical music faintly playing in the background setting the mood for the perfect listless Tuesday. Stare, sip, read. “I’m loving it”.

Of Understanding Relationships.

I have a love-hate relationship with voice-over films and television. As much as I love to listen to good voice-over musings, I hate that actions are not enough to express deep thoughts.

This is what voice-overs do to me. They get me thinking. Sometimes, almost make me ponder unnecessarily, endlessly. Always about more than one thing. Today’s film got me hooked onto relationships. In general. Nothing specific. I’ve always been satisfied with all my alliances and all the joy and pain that they bring. I’m not that special and once in a while I do think that the grass is greener on the other side. I used to see “perfect” couples and think, “Wow, I want to have something like that!”, or, “I want to grow up to be like them”. As I got better acquainted and analysed their relations closer, I thought otherwise. I did not want to be “like” any one of those couples. Then I went ahead and became a couple with the H and I adore what we have. I realized, probably one of the most important lessons, that it’s not about seeing the greener side. It’s about making your side greener (It is always good to know what you don’t want on your greens). Or maybe it’s as simple as this; there is no such thing as greener grass. Grass is green. Period.

The most complicated thing in relations is defining them. Sometimes the names that we give relations is not enough to effectively communicate exactly what you might share with that person. Is saying “friend” or “sister” or “husband” or even ” mother” enough of a word (?) to say everything about what the relationship encompasses? My mother is much, much more than motherly concern and affection. Some friends are more than family, some are plain acquaintances. The H fills in so many other positions in terms of relations than just a husband. This business of definitions actually ruins the pure essence of relations. This world being a big, nasty place, it becomes important to name all people within the parameters of these relationships. The world cares a hoot about your definitions of these names, it is happy as long as it gets a name. That’s the world’s fetish, that’s how we have phrases like, “like my brother” or “like my sister” (I would love to meet someone who uses, “like my husband” or “like my wife” , that would be interesting, eh? ). Most importantly though, it suffices that you (alone) get these, definitions, or names or not, because muddling relations in the name of names is the easiest thing. Giving names to relations is the beginning of serious involvement as well as a convenient escape to avoid deeper personal involvemet. So what matters to me, is not the names, but the associations and affections that I relate to the individuals.

Bottom line, I love people for their individuality and contribution to my life (selfish, I know), than what name they bring to the equation.

Of Fighting.

My fighting spirit, like many other things, got lost along the way somewhere. Hindsight tells me it got entangled with nonchalance, satisfied aspirations, complacent futures and altogether lowered interest in succeeding any which way. Yet, these are the very same reasons, taken to the extreme over time, that make me want to fight with a vengeance.  So all wasn’t hopelessly lost. I’ve come to think, in this day and age, fighting against the current is easier than fighting along with the current. So far, life has been kind and I’ve fought an easy fight and luckily, given the case, did exceptionally well. Such a lovely past gives me hope in a fight; that I might have a chance after all.

Fight is such a wonderfully violent way of ascertaining survival of the adaptable fittest. I think of change, a worthwhile reason to fight. Fight to change facets of my self. Fight to push me beyond what I believe I am capable. Fight for new and old dreams. Fight so that I grow tall. Fight so that I belong. Fight so that I become.

I begin a fight for a new way. Not entirely sure if it’s the right way. For now, it is a way leading me someplace I’ve never been. It’s going to be a tough way to find out the best way. I guess, till then I’ll just keep fighting.

Of Sounds of Settling.

What have we become of late?
Brought together by strings of fate
We were strangers, now are strength
Tethered to one other forever, until death
Maybe even after, but I know not with certitude
For now, we seek solitude in our multitude
And to grow, grey and wise together
Of such, loving dreams we gather
In unison our lives we continue to weave
For any bad times and shortcomings to sieve
Share pain to forgive and forget
In the other’s joy, happiness beget.

What have we become of late?
Husband and wife or simply best mate
Barter, banter, candor, thrill, esture
Hurtful remark, a thoughtful gesture
Discussions and arguments galore
And caringly apply balm when sore
A morning cup of tea, a midnight glass of water
Thus we “plan” to live happily ever after…

What have we become of late?
None of the fancy things they told us at the gate
Work, furniture, play, cook and clean
Pockets and fat both going lean.

What have we become of late?
Two lives written on one slate.

–Solitary Dreamer.